Brightened night,
Darkened figures without form,
Of blind sight,
Seeking victims in respite,
Hunting the Lamb to eat in glaring shriek of lightening light,
The Woollen Marble Child in immortal Sight,
Oh, on that sunlit burning brightened night!
Mother Nature, come aid our sad-eyed thoughts,
Rinse the tears from our sadness blackly bought,
Our minds, at one and same in Black and White,
We live through the Angels of either day or night,
Let the Meek Lamb, for once, enjoy the light...
A. J. Buttle 2007 (use as your own if your conscience cares not)
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